


Don't Blink

by NothingTame



Series: Hannah And Sparatus [3]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingTame/pseuds/NothingTame
Summary: When Hannah and Sparatus brush along the edges of each others' worlds, do they puncture boundaries and take what they want, or do they keep walking and silently promise their hearts, "Later."?





	Don't Blink

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to revisit these two. 
> 
> If you haven't read the original story, 'Translation in Blood', here it is:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/784185/chapters/1478621

The time between Shanxi and  _now_ wasn't completely barren. 

There were moments of rare intersection, unplanned at least from Hannah's end. She knew it was better not to scour the newsfeeds for Sparatus, to know here he was and if he 'd be where she was going. Or worse, to learn where he was and change her course just to, maybe, for a moment...

She could only remember it happening a handful of times (four), and maybe where they'd happened (the Citadel, every single time). But it was the first encounter after Shanxi that stood out the most. 

 

It was one of the many garden plazas on the station, busy with the traffic at midday, pedestrians coming to and fro. Hannah was there on the end of an assignment, headed to one of the Alliance offices to debrief and report and maybe gain another assignment. She was in no hurry, strolling along. Her hair was pulled back in a long tail, unusual for her but it made her think of three-fingered Turian hands combing through the tresses, long enough to swish around her hips when she moved.

In fact, she was thinking of him before she'd even seen him, remembering those beautiful markings, the unusual, powerful lines of his shoulders, the carapace she'd clung to in the heat of passion. Remembering the taste of his mouth, the sounds he made with his pleasure, the sounds he made at  _her_ pleasure ...

She didn't quite register that it was really him, not at first. Simply staring along as she walked, eyes seeing nothing, his face swimming before her in her memories. Stark markings on a darker face, the way his mandibles flickered with interest whenever he looked at her. As she continued to walk, the vision of him got bigger, and bigger, until-

He was staring at her, walking towards her from the opposite direction, the tension in him like carved rock, mandibles pulled in tight to his face. Hannah froze. For a heartbeat, she stopped walking.

And then, her eyes on his, she ducked into a side alleyway that led to an alcove, and an abandoned building, through a coded door-

His hands were on her before the door closed. He didn't say anything, he simply ran his touch up her uniform, finding flesh and slowing his stroking palms, savoring her skin while she savored the touch of him, eyes fluttering, threatening to roll up into her skull. Her mouth raised in offering, his name right there on her lips, swallowed quickly by Sparatus and his sweeping tongue, his hand tugging her hair loose, stroking in to the mass to tangle and grip, hard, and hold her in place while his other hand undid buttons, pushed down trousers, slid over the plush curves of her hips and dug nails into the round swell of her ass.

She whimpered; shrill, it reverberated, her hands cupping his cheekbones as she deepened the kiss, dug in, bit, scraped, groaned around his tongue as more of her clothing slid to the floor at her feet. 

The world tilted, she was hefted and pressed down onto the surface of a counter, naked, her Turian between her knees, gripping her hips and yanking her towards him. She whined, her hips lifting, spine curling above the counter, her hands on his carapace, the collar of his shirt, tugging down, begging him, an edge of desperation in her voice-

Knees over his elbows, she was hauled back towards him once more, impaled slow and insistent while she twisted in his grip. 

" _Hannah,_ " he growled, his own desperation haunting her for years to come.

The back of her head hit the counter when she arched, her breathing ragged, laced with tight noises of pleasure,  _need._ Human hands gripped Turian elbows, nails dug in and marks were left behind. It felt good, it felt  _so good_ to have him in her, moving, above her, pressing, against her, panting, groaning into her throat as his arms wound around her. 

She expected a savage pace; in part, it was what she wanted, but that's not what he gave her, not at first. First, it was slow, drawn out, measured, sawing inward and pulling back, her teeth gritting at the burn, the stretching of flesh and muscle to fit a cock not made for her but  _also so fucking perfect_ and exactly what she needed. Her head turned, her face presses into the hard ridge of his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt smooth against her skin as she whimpered into it, bit, groaned, her arms winding around his neck and carapace. His rhythm stuttered, she felt teeth press against the skin of her throat.

"-nnyes," she gasped in encouragement. "Yes _yes yes_ please yes-"

His hips snapped forward and her spine curled back until the back of her head once again hit the counter. He kept his slow, measured pace but the force of his thrusts were hard, possessive, deep, and needy in all the ways Hannah wanted. Yes. Yes.  _Yes._

 _"Sparatus-"_ she sobbed, finally saying his name, and he snarled into her skin, moving into her faster, harder, the sound of cloth-covered hips slapping soft, human flesh filling the air of their abandoned sanctuary. 

She  _ached,_ his deep, nerve-scoring thrusts were drawing on it, building on it, making her knees draw higher along his sides to spread, her heels digging into his lower back and his rocking hips. Within, his cock stroked along the roof of her sex, stoked a fire that had burned in the long months since last she'd seen him, drew the banked embers into a roaring flame that overwhelmed her. If his desperate, pained grunts against her cheek told her anything, he'd suffered as much as she did.

"-won't break," she panted against a tense mandible. "Won't break, love, I won't-" His head shifted, pressed low against her throat as his arms gripped her shoulders from below, held her firm, hard, and proceeded to slam into her. 

She came twice, one right on the heels of the other, and dug furrows into his shoulders as she arched her back and screamed. 

White light and warm velvet, a bliss painted in grays that drowned her, turned her inside out and slammed her back into her reality, the reality of her body and soul and heart and who it all belonged to, whether it was practical or not. 

His ragged groans sounded against her ear, his back hunching, shoulders drawn forward as he gripped her, held her in place for the last, savage, cervix-bruising thrusts. Hips pressed forward, the Turian hilted, he shuddered hard, growling like a wounded animal as he emptied himself in her, trembling all the while. She'd have her own scratches across her shoulders from him, maybe more, and she pressed dazed, sloppy kisses to his panting mouth while she quivered and clung to him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

How no one saw them, neither of them knew, with Hannah's legs shaking the whole way from counter to clothes and back to the door, it took longer than she was comfortable with. And yet when they were there, when they faced each other knowing the encounter was over and likely would never happen again, they stopped at the entrance, the door still closed, their eyes riveted to the other's face. 

His talons kept touching her bottom lip. Her fingertips fussed with the hem of his shirt, along with the pants he'd left on and now she understood why; he  _reeked_ of sex, of them. It would be with him when he got home. She was tempted to steal if from him, that shirt, if she thought her legs would support a run through the Presidium. 

In the end, he said nothing and she said nothing, he touched her face with mouth and mandible, a flutter of contact before his brow pressed to her's. The need in it, the quiet, desperate, three-worded-silence that lingered under it had tears coursing down her cheeks before he'd pulled away. He didn't look back when he went through the door, not even when he closed it behind him. 

The room was empty now, the echo of hunger and pleasure and desperate reunion lingering in the walls and the rafters, so near to her in the minutes before that she could almost step back in time and sink into it again. Leaning against the wall, she worked on pulling herself together, taking her time because she knew the longer she took the less of a tangible connection between the two of them there'd be.

And that was import, because 'discretion'. 

 

 


End file.
